The Successor
by Jennifer Campbell
Summary: A warning from Herne that Robin's successor is coming leads both Robin and Robert on a journey of revelations. COMPLETED.
1. Prophecy

The Successor  
by Jennifer Campbell  
  
None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just  
having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear,  
when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No  
beta, so blame the typos on me.  
  
This is the first chapter of probably four or five. So if you  
enjoy this part, please check back in a few days for the next  
installment. And I would love to hear your feedback.  
  
#  
  
Mist swept across the ground with a life of its own, despite  
the total absence of wind. It obscured the lush undergrowth as  
it spilled down a hill to Robin's feet, and a hush descended  
over a forest usually teeming with the music of life. In all, it  
was an eerie feeling, as though this tiny slice of the world had  
slipped out of reality. Robin of Sherwood --formerly Robin of  
Loxley -- knew well what the mystical occurrence heralded: Herne  
was approaching.  
  
At one time, not so long ago, visits from the forest god had  
filled him with apprehension, and maybe even fear. But those  
days were gone. Now, Robin merely planted his long bow firmly on  
the forest floor and leaned against it casually as he waited.  
Moments later, the familiar antlers came into view, atop the  
hill. Herne raised his arms in benediction, barely visible amid  
the swirling mist, and Robin bowed his head in greeting to his  
master.  
  
"A man is coming to the forest," Herne pronounced. "One  
intended to follow in your steps."  
  
The words threw Robin back a step. "A man? What man?"  
  
"When you meet him, you will know," Herne replied. "He has  
strayed too far from his destiny. You must help him to find his  
path once more, or all that you have worked for will be lost."  
  
"I don't understand," Robin called out. "Who is this man? What  
do you mean he will follow in my footsteps?"  
  
Herne lowered his arms and spoke quietly then, though his voice  
easily carried to Robin. "It is enough. All will be made clear  
in time. You must go now, my son, but do not forget. The future  
rests in your hands."  
  
A bright flash exploded atop the hill like a small star, and  
Robin instinctively shielded his eyes. When the light vanished,  
Herne was gone. The mists cleared quickly, and a soft breeze  
rustled the leaves overhead. Nearby, a bird began to sing  
cheerfully. Sherwood once again became the forest Robin had  
learned to call home.  
  
Yet he hardly noticed the resumption of life as he replayed  
Herne's directive in his mind, as had become his habit. He  
gripped his bow tighter in frustration. Riddles. More riddles.  
For once, he wished Herne would forgo the obscurity and speak as  
all men do. Yet, the horned one -- he wasn't a man. Not  
entirely. He stood a step apart from the mortal world, and he  
saw things. The future. A man to follow in Robin's footsteps.  
  
A successor.  
  
With a troubled heart and heavy feet, all too aware of what  
Herne's words meant for his _own_ future, Robin headed back  
toward  
camp.  
  
#  
  
At the edge of Sherwood, two young men reined in their horses  
and peered under the canopy of trees. The road curled around a  
bend and vanished into the forbidding darkness. The fair-haired  
boy, no older than seventeen, urged his mount forward a few  
steps, right to the place where grass surrendered to forest. His  
companion dropped back.  
  
"Come on, Kyle," the fair-headed one teased. "Are you afraid of  
a few trees and rabbits? Or perhaps you are the rabbit, to turn  
back now."  
  
"We shouldn't be doing this, Robert," Kyle replied nervously.  
"We should be getting back to Huntingdon before the earl finds  
out."  
  
Robert's lip curled in a sneer. "My _father_ wouldn't notice  
unless I went missing for several days, and that's not going to  
happen." He paused. "Then again, maybe that's not such a bad  
idea. At least then he'd pay me some attention."  
  
"He'll certainly notice that his sword is missing." Kyle's eyes  
strayed to the ornate hilt protruding from the scabbard at  
Robert's hip. "Come on. We don't want to get in trouble."  
  
"And what if we do? It's going to be my sword someday, anyway,  
by right of succession. I ought to get used to it now, don't you  
think?"  
  
"Yeah, well, nothing will happen to _you_ if we're caught. They  
can't touch you because you're the earl's son. But Lord Edgar is  
sure to give me a whipping."  
  
Edgar, Robert's uncle, trained all the young pages and squires  
of the castle. He proved a harsh taskmaster, quick to punish  
when his boys disobeyed but also generous with his praise when  
it was warranted. Robert hoped to earn much of that praise on  
this particular day, and no one, not even his best friend and  
appointed companion, would deter him from his path.  
  
"I'm going in."  
  
"Robert, this is _insane_," Kyle pleaded. "What makes you think  
we can even _find_ Robin Hood, let alone kill him? The Sheriff  
has  
been trying for months, and _he_ hasn't succeeded."  
  
With a scornful glance at his friend, Robert pressed his horse  
forward a few more steps, past the first line of trees. "Are you  
coming or not?"  
  
Without waiting for a response, he rode forward. Kyle muttered  
some curses, but soon he was riding by Robert's side. They  
followed the road around a bend and left the safety of  
civilization behind. The sounds of the forest surrounded them --  
birds singing, small animals rustling through the undergrowth,  
wind whipping through the branches high above. A virtual  
symphony of life, and somehow comforting to Robert. In a strange  
way, it felt more like home than Huntingdon ever had.  
  
"This is not a good idea," Kyle muttered.  
  
"Oh, be quiet," Robert admonished.  
  
"What do you want to find out here, anyway?"  
  
Robert grinned. "Once we kill the wolfshead, our names will be  
known across England. We'll be heroes. King Richard himself will  
thank us."  
  
"I never wanted to be a hero."  
  
Robin urged his horse to a trot, with Kyle following  
reluctantly behind. Eventually, by virtue of chance, they would  
stumble across the outlaws, those unkempt barbarians of the  
forest. They wouldn't stand a chance against the superior battle  
training of an earl's son and a squire. And then, well ...  
  
Then glory would be his.  
  
#  
  
Marion poked restlessly at the ground with a stick, punching  
tiny holes in the dirt that caved in all too quickly. She  
glanced up again at Robin, her sullen husband, barely visible  
through the thick foliage. He had shrugged them all off after  
returning to camp, refusing to speak about what Herne had  
revealed to him. Not even to her. He sat outside camp and had  
hardly moved for hours.  
  
Most of the others had grown tired of waiting and had gone  
hunting. Only John had remained with her. They had been here for  
what seemed forever, keeping a silent vigil over their  
mysterious leader.  
  
She stabbed again at the dirt, harder this time.  
  
If only he would open up to her. Share some of the weight  
pressing down on his heart. She would happily accept the burden,  
if only to spare him the pain of carrying it all alone.  
Certainly, he shared many things with her: His hopes and dreams.  
His passion. His love.  
  
Still, sometimes his eyes turned remote, and cold. He folded in  
on himself and no one could coax him from his shell. Not until  
he wanted to come out. Right now, that was obviously the case.  
Whatever Herne had told him, it had disturbed him greatly.  
  
She looked up as Will crashed into camp. He stalked closer and  
sat across from her, twirling a knife impatiently in his hand.  
"Has he moved yet?"  
  
"What do you think," she answered, more a statement than a  
question. She looked up at him, not bothering to hide her  
frustration.  
  
"So, that's a 'no,' then."  
  
She sighed. "He hasn't moved."  
  
Will leaned forward intently. "What do we do if he stays up  
there all day? Answer me that. Do we just sit here and wait?"  
  
"He'll come down," John said as he sauntered over. He crouched  
beside Marion and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He  
has to come down eventually."  
  
"I just wish he'd open up to us," Marion murmured.  
  
"I know, lass," John soothed. "Give him time."  
  
"Well, what if we don't have time?" Will insisted. "What if  
we're supposed to be out there doing something, and he's not  
telling us about it?"  
  
"Will ..." John's voice dripped with warning.  
  
"No, Will's right," Marion looked at both of them in turn.  
"Robin can't stay up there all day. We have a right to know  
what's going on." She rose to her feet and brushed the twigs  
from her skirt. "I'll talk to him."  
  
Before either man could respond, she turned and marched up the  
hill, toward her husband. She sat beside him, gingerly. His dark  
eyes flickered toward her, but still he refused to move. He sat,  
still as stone, his chin resting on his folded hands.  
  
"Robin?" she asked quietly. "Is everything all right?"  
  
He hesitated, then said, "I'm fine, Marion."  
  
"You're not acting fine. We're worried about you." When he  
offered nothing more, she dared to press harder. "What did Herne  
tell you? Please, if there's anything I can do to help ..."  
  
"There's nothing to be done," he murmured. Then he shifted,  
turning slowly to face her. "Herne said ..."  
  
He stopped, tightened his lips and bowed his head. Almost  
sadly, Marion thought. She set her hand on his shoulder and  
squeezed lightly.  
  
"I'm here for you, Robin."  
  
He smiled softly. "I know. It's just -- I might not always be  
here for you."  
  
She drew back, as though burned. "What do you mean?" she asked  
sharply.  
  
"Herne said that one was coming who would follow in my  
footsteps. I'm to help him find his path."  
  
"But, that could mean many things," Marion offered. She tried  
to sound supportive, but inside, her spirit wilted. How could  
Herne even think of replacing Robin, so soon after calling him?  
  
"It is my successor. He is coming."  
  
"I don't believe it," she said, with more resolution than she  
felt. "No one can replace you, Robin. No one. Not in this  
forest, or in our hearts. You are our leader, and we wouldn't  
accept anyone else."  
  
At that, Robin's gaze slowly came to her face, and he ran his  
fingertips tenderly along her cheek. His eyes burned with so  
much love that she caught her breath. How could she ever believe  
in anyone else like she believed in him?  
  
"My beautiful wife," he whispered. "Thank you."  
  
His eyes darted back toward camp, to the anxious men who waited  
there, and he rose slowly to his feet with a groan. In the ash  
tree above them, a startled bird took flight. Robin stretched  
his arms lazily over his head, and Marion rose beside him.  
  
"I need to take a walk," he said.  
  
"I'll come with you," she quickly responded.  
  
"No," he said, then softened the rejection by brushing his lips  
against hers. "I need time to think. Alone. I'll be back before  
dark."  
  
"Be careful."  
  
He nodded, and then, with one more kiss, quickly vanished into  
the forest. He moved so silently that in moments, she heard  
nothing of his passing. She sat down again, dejected, and rested  
her chin on her knees.  
  
"Well, what did he say?" John asked as he approached, Will  
close behind him.  
  
Marion opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut again.  
What Robin had shared had been for her ears alone. The others,  
they didn't need to hear about a possible successor. Not now,  
just as they were coming together as a team. As a family.  
  
"Are you going to tell us or not?" Will asked impatiently.  
  
"He said ..." She hesitated. "He said he had some thinking to  
do and he'll be back by dark."  
  
Will threw his arms up. "Well, that's just great, ain't it.  
We're stuck here all day while he sulks."  
  
"Give him time, Will," Marion said quietly, an unintentional  
echo of John's earlier words. Her eyes strayed back into the  
forest, to where Robin had vanished. "Just give him time."  
  
#  
  
"Do you even know where we're going?" Kyle asked.  
  
Robert looked sidelong at his nervous friend. The boy, only a  
year his junior, made a wonderful companion for castle living.  
They could sneak into the kitchens better than anyone else,  
snitching bits of food between meals. And only Kyle could match  
Robert's proficiency in weapons training. Yet out here, beyond  
the gates of Huntingdon, Kyle was proving a poor choice of  
comrade, indeed.  
  
They had stopped for a short break, to water their horses at a  
small stream. Robert had unbuckled his father's sword, and it  
now lay on a flat rock at the water's edge. He stretched out  
beside it, enjoying the sunny afternoon.  
  
"If we keep going that way," Robert said, pointing down the  
road, "we eventually come to Nottingham. Back the other way,  
Huntingdon."  
  
"But we're not going to Nottingham."  
  
"No."  
  
Kyle sighed. "How I wish I were back in Huntingdon right now.  
You've met Margaret, haven't you? One of the serving girls? She  
promised to meet me in the stables today. But instead I'm riding  
around Sherwood with you."  
  
Robert grinned. "Ah, now the truth comes out. She's the reason  
you keep wanting to go back, isn't she?"  
  
"I'll lose her to that oaf, Carlisle, after this." He sighed  
again, in mock regret. "She's _very_ pretty, you know, with hair  
that shimmers like the sun."  
  
"You won't lose her," Robert said confidently. "Not when we  
come riding home with the body of Robin Hood."  
  
Now it was Kyle's turn to look sidelong at his companion. "Why  
are you doing this, Robert?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Why this sudden urge to play the hero?"  
  
Robert shrugged. "I guess I'm just tired of doing what everyone  
tells me to do. So for once, I'm going to do what _I_ want to."  
  
Kyle snorted. "No one tells you what to do. You're the earl's  
son."  
  
"Are you kidding?" Robert asked in amazement. "Everyone is  
_always_ directing my life. 'Read those books, study that scroll,  
act like a nobleman. Rule over all those worthless peasants that  
aren't worth the trouble. Better do a good job, because you're  
stuck with it for the rest of your life.'" He groaned at his own  
misfortune. "You have no idea how much I wish to be free of it."  
  
"And you think this little adventure will help?"  
  
"No. No, I don't." Robert shook his head sadly. "Nothing can  
free me of my destiny."  
  
They sat in silence then. Robert pushed all thoughts away,  
letting the soothing gurgle of the stream dull his sudden  
melancholy. The forest, he realized, had a rhythm to it. Every  
movement of the trees, every sound, it all fit into a greater  
pattern. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him,  
knowing deep in his soul, he could stay here forever and be  
happy.  
  
Then, a twig snapped. Out of tune, out of order. Robert's eyes  
snapped open.  
  
"Did you hear that?" he asked softly.  
  
Kyle's eyebrows furrowed. "Hear what?"  
  
"I think someone is there."  
  
Robert cocked his head, listening for another break in the  
forest rhythm, but nothing came. Maybe it had only been his  
imagination. He chided his own foolishness as he rose to his  
feet, buckled on his belt and sword, and gathered the reins of  
his horse in hand. Still, his uneasiness remained.  
  
"Come on," he said. "It's time we were on our way."  
  
Kyle nodded without words, his eyes darting about the forest in  
the wake of Robert's warning. As they mounted and continued down  
the road toward Nottingham, Robert glanced back over his  
shoulder. Something had been there, watching them. Listening.  
Biding its time under Sherwood's lush cover. He was sure of it.  
  
# 


	2. Meeting

The Successor  
by Jennifer Campbell  
  
None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just  
having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear,  
when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No  
beta, so blame the typos on me.  
  
This is the second chapter of probably four or five. So if you  
enjoy this part, please check back in a few days for the next  
installment. And I would love to hear your feedback.  
  
#  
  
Robin tracked the two young men after they left the stream. The  
road twisted and turned, but Robin took a more direct route  
through the trees, easily keeping pace with the horses. He  
watched, and waited.  
  
Both of them must be of noble birth, he decided. Their fine  
clothes ... much finer than anything one could buy on the  
streets of Nottingham. The dark one carried a bulging money  
pouch, and the flaxen-haired one had a sword. Ah, that sword,  
now that was the real prize. Even from a distance, Robin could  
make out the tiny jewels reflecting on its hilt. A sword like  
that might feed a village for a year, or maybe longer.  
  
What they were doing, riding through Sherwood without an  
escort, he didn't know. Nor did he care. They had riches they  
hadn't even bothered to hide -- the fools -- and they were ripe  
for picking.  
  
Robin all but flew across the forest floor, so much like the  
wild animal his enemies claimed him to be. He pulled ahead of  
the riders, climbed an obliging tree that draped over the road,  
and waited. A minute later, his prey came around the bend. Under  
his branch. And he jumped.  
  
The dark-haired one crashed to the ground with Robin atop him.  
The boy's head thudded against the unyielding forest floor, and  
he grew still. Robin launched himself at the other, who was  
staring in wide-eyed amazement. He had only managed to half-draw  
that fine sword before Robin threw him from his saddle. Both  
horses reared and then trampled back down the road, the way they  
had come from.  
  
Robin straddled the second victim and held a dagger to his  
throat. White-blond hair, cut similarly to his own, spilled  
across the road. The man began to struggle, and Robin pressed  
harder.  
  
"I don't want to kill you," Robin growled. "All I want is your  
money. And the sword."  
  
The man gasped. "That's my father's sword, and you _won't_ have  
it, wolfshead! You'll have to kill me first!"  
  
The venom behind the man's words surprised Robin, and he looked  
closer at his prey. He was young -- younger than Robin had first  
thought. Yet his eyes burned with a passion far beyond his  
years. Something about that gaze held Robin in thrall, that  
ageless look resonating to the deepest part of him. Herne's  
words echoed though his mind.  
  
_A man is coming to the forest. One intended to follow in your  
steps. ... When you meet him, you will know._  
  
"The one," Robin whispered. "You're the one. But you're only a  
boy."  
  
The struggling stopped momentarily. "You're Robin Hood, aren't  
you?"  
  
Robin nodded. "What's your name?"  
  
The boy's gaze became defiant. "Robert of Huntingdon, the  
earl's son. And if you don't release me, my father will send a  
thousand men into Sherwood and crush you."  
  
Robin's eyebrows raised. "An earl's son? Interesting."  
  
"Release me!"  
  
"If you'll stop writhing around like a fish for two seconds, I  
might just do that." Robin smiled approvingly as the boy's  
struggles ceased. "Good. Now hold still a moment. I promise I  
won't hurt you."  
  
In one fluid motion, Robin removed the dagger from Robert's  
throat and drew the kingly sword from its scabbard. He rose to  
his feet and walked a few paces away, examining the workmanship  
of the weapon. As he had thought, dozens of tiny jewels, green  
and red, decorated the hilt. The blade itself felt light in his  
hand, well-balanced. It was almost as fine as Albion. Almost.  
  
Robert scrambled to his feet, ran to his companion and felt at  
the unconscious boy's neck for a pulse. Robin merely watched,  
amused.  
  
"He's alive," Robin assured him. "But he'll sleep for a while."  
  
"I will have your head for this," Robert spat. "Return my sword."  
  
"No." Robin hefted the weapon in his hand. "Not until we call a  
truce."  
  
Robert blinked, the anger in his expression suddenly replaced  
with confusion. "A truce? I don't understand."  
  
"I'll give you back your sword, but only after we've had a talk."  
He scanned the area thoughtfully. "Not here, though. We would  
need to leave the road. Agreed?"  
  
Robert merely gaped. "You attack us, hurt my friend, lose our  
horses, steal my sword, and now you want to _talk_?"  
  
A smile curled at one corner of Robin's mouth, and he nodded.  
He set the sword's tip lightly against the ground and held it  
before him like a cross, a deliberate reminder of what was at  
stake.  
  
Now that he had seen the boy, Robin almost felt like laughing.  
His earlier worries of Herne replacing him seemed a silly,  
childish fear. After all, Robert of Huntingdon, the earl's son,  
was hardly ready to move into Sherwood and lead a band of  
outlaws. Whatever Herne wanted of the boy would not happen for  
many years yet. It set Robin's heart at ease, and made the  
coming task that much easier.  
  
Herne had directed him to set the boy on the correct path.  
Robin's own path. He had to make Robert understand the  
importance of this struggle to defend and protect the people, to  
fight for true justice and not the mockery most lords made of  
it. It wouldn't prove easy, to help a young Norman lord to feel  
sympathy for Saxon peasants, but Herne wouldn't have set the  
challenge before him if were it impossible.  
  
Robert's expression grew distrustful, and he studied the outlaw  
closely. "How do I know that as soon as we're deep in Sherwood  
you won't kill me and take my sword?"  
  
Cautious, Robin thought approvingly. The boy was cautious, and  
smart.  
  
He set the earl's sword on the ground, drew his own blade, and  
approached Robert. He held the sword across both palms, in an  
unthreatening manner, and offered it to Robert. The boy stared  
at the weapon warily.  
  
"Take it," Robin said.  
  
Robert reached out slowly, slowly, and wrapped his fingers  
around the hilt, hefted it into the air. The look on his face  
showed his amazement, and he closely examined the blade that he  
held upright in his hand.  
  
"Albion," he said, reading the inscription. He pointed at the  
symbols etched into the blade. "What does all this mean?"  
  
"I don't know," Robin answered softly. He retrieved the earl's  
sword and slipped it into his sheath. "I won't abandon or hurt  
you while you hold my sword, and you will grant me the same  
trust. We are bonded through our blades. For the time being.  
Will you come with me now?"  
  
Robert snorted. "I don't have a choice, now do I?" He nodded  
toward the still, prostrate form in the road. "What about my  
friend?"  
  
"We'll carry him off the road and leave him. If he doesn't wake  
on his own, we'll return for him later."  
  
"And where are you taking me?"  
  
Robin smiled. "You'll see. Come on."  
  
He dragged Robert's friend off the road, hid him in a small  
thicket, and waited patiently for Robert to gather his courage  
and join him. The boy eyed him cautiously, as though Robin were  
a snake about to strike, and Robin couldn't blame him. He had  
not trusted Herne when they had first met, but the bond between  
them had been undeniable. Just as he could sense a bond between  
himself and Robert. They were the same, no matter the different  
paths their lives had taken. Trust would grow. Herne would see  
to that.  
  
#  
  
The wolfshead lead Robert deep into Sherwood, so far from the  
road that Robert knew he could never find his way back unaided.  
They weaved among the trees, crossed small clearings, even  
jumped a stream -- but where they were going, he didn't know.  
  
Robin seemed to belong to the forest, Robert mused as he  
watched the outlaw walk ahead of him. He moved with the grace of  
a wild animal, silent and deadly. The undergrowth seemed to part  
before him, while it snapped back into place for Robert, making  
his passing next to intolerable. He stumbled over rocks and  
roots, ran headlong into whiplike branches, and crunched leaves  
with each step. He would be covered with bruises by morning.  
  
With some concentration, though, after they had walked for  
quite awhile, he began to get the feel of moving silently. It  
wasn't as difficult as it looked. Not by far. Soon, he was  
making only a little noise, sounding more like a rabbit than a  
boar, although it required great focus. The wolfshead turned  
back once to smile and nod, and despite himself, Robert felt  
proud for the approval.  
  
"What brings an earl's son to Sherwood?" Robin asked.  
  
"To kill you." He half-smiled at the irony of it, and Robin  
chuckled. "I could attack you now."  
  
"Yes, you could. But you won't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Robin smiled mysteriously. "I just know."  
  
Robert licked his dry lips, cleared his throat. "Where are we  
going?"  
  
"To visit Wickham."  
  
"And who is that?" Robert pressed. "One of your outlaw friends?"  
  
Robin laughed at that, obviously amused, and Robert felt his  
cheeks redden in embarrassment. He didn't care to have this man  
laughing at him. No one dared such impudence in Huntingdon.  
  
"Wickham isn't a person," Robin explained. "It's a place, a  
village not far from here."  
  
"Why are we going there?"  
  
"Because there's something in Wickham that I think you need to  
see."  
  
Robert glanced around them, at the lengthening shadows.  
Already, he felt a slight chill in the air. "The sun will set  
soon."  
  
"We'll be there before nightfall." Robin glanced back at him,  
mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't worry. I won't let you get  
lost in the dark."  
  
"I am not frightened," Robert retorted.  
  
And strangely enough, he really _wasn't_ scared, although he  
suspected he should be wetting his pants. He had essentially  
been taken hostage by the most notorious criminal in the land,  
and yet, as much as he wanted to hate this man -- this enemy of  
the king and all things lawful in England -- he found himself  
drawn to him, instead. Like a moth to the flame, he thought  
ruefully. Certain to get burned but helpless to stay away.  
  
Robert couldn't quite understand it, but he felt a connection  
to Robin Hood, as though something more powerful than either of  
them was pulling them together. It was a strange, uncomfortable  
feeling, that he had no control over his own fate.  
  
Not much later, just as twilight began to fall, they crossed a  
stream at a narrow footbridge, climbed a hill, and there was  
Wickham. It looked like every village on his father's land: a  
pathetic collection of thatch-roofed buildings and tiny gardens.  
People walked every which way, going about the daily business of  
life. Even at this distance, Robert imagined he could smell the  
stench of them, an entire village that had probably never seen a  
proper bathing tub, let alone used one.  
  
He stopped at the treeline, his eyes taking in everything about  
the small community. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to go  
another step, and Robin looked back at him in confusion.  
  
"Come on," the outlaw said. "We're almost there."  
  
"I know," he said, yet still he hesitated.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I don't feel right about this, going into that place. I'm a  
nobleman and they're ..."  
  
"Peasants?" Robin prompted. At Robert's nod, he sighed and led  
them back amid the trees. "The people of Wickham are no higher  
or lower than you. They are human. We all are. And the sooner  
you understand that, the better." He half-smiled and clapped  
Robert on the shoulder. "Now, come on."  
  
This time, Robert took a deep breath, gathered his courage and  
followed. He couldn't help but notice the strange glances of the  
people. For Robin, their expressions held only wonder and  
adoration, but when their eyes strayed to him ... well, they  
looked confused, and wary. Robert felt almost under attack, as  
though he could _hear_ their hateful thoughts, yet no one said a  
word. He breathed a relieved sigh that his fine clothes, which  
might have spawned even more hostility, were dirty and torn.  
Unrecognizable as those belonging to a nobleman.  
  
A few men tended a fire at the village's edge; they seemed to  
be cooking some meat, and Robert's stomach growled at the aroma.  
Only then, he realized he hadn't eaten since morning. A few  
chickens and a goat wandered nearby, and a mill wheel turned  
lazily at the largest building in sight.  
  
As they neared the village center -- Robin in the lead with  
Robert only a couple of paces behind -- a man approached. He was  
tall and slender, with a close beard. He grinned and shook  
Robin's hand in greeting.  
  
"This is an unexpected visit," the man said. "What can we do  
for you?"  
  
"Good to see you, Edward," Robin replied. "I'd like you to meet  
someone. This is--"  
  
"Thomas," Robert quickly interjected. Robin gave him a startled  
glance, but he ignored it. Some instinct told him that to share  
his true identity would be a mistake. "My name is Thomas, of  
Lincoln."  
  
Edward took his hand in a firm shake. "You're a long way from  
home. What brings you to Wickham?"  
  
"I do," Robin said. "Can we go inside, somewhere where we can  
talk in private?"  
  
Edward's eyes flickered nervously, but he nodded. "Of course.  
Follow me."  
  
#  
  
"He should have been back by now," Will proclaimed to the  
others, all gathered around a small campfire for dinner. He  
leaned over to Nasir, sitting next to him. "He should have been  
back hours ago."  
  
No one responded, or even acknowledged Will's words, because  
they all knew the truth of it. Marion, for one, couldn't bring  
herself to speak because then she would have admitted to their  
worst fear: Something unthinkable had happened to Robin. She  
took another sip of Tuck's rabbit stew and firmly banished such  
evil thoughts from her mind.  
  
Will, though, would have none of it. He jumped to his feet,  
agitated. "It ain't right that he should be gone so long."  
  
"We know," Tuck answered gently. "Now sit down and eat."  
  
Will muttered angrily under his breath but obeyed, stuffing an  
oversized heap of stew into his mouth. Across the circle, John  
stirred his makeshift fork in his bowl without eating a bite.  
Much and Tuck stared forlornly into the fire. Only Nasir seemed  
calm, yet even he, Marion noted, occasionally glanced toward  
the outskirts of camp in a futile lookout for Robin.  
  
Marion pulled her blanket more closely around her shoulders,  
hoping to ward off the chill that swept through her every time  
she thought of what might have happened to her husband. Captured  
by Gisburne and the Sheriff, or injured and helpless to return  
to camp. Perhaps he had met this successor Herne had spoken of.  
Perhaps they had fought and Robin ...  
  
_No_. No, she would not think of such things. Robin was alive. He  
had to be.  
  
"He said he'd be back by dark, right?" Much asked.  
  
Marion nodded. "That's what he said."  
  
"But it's dark now."  
  
"I know," Marion answered, struggling to keep her voice level,  
for Much's benefit. The boy had known Robin longer than any of  
them.  
  
"So where is he?" Much's eyes pleaded for an answer -- one she  
could not give.  
  
"I don't know," she finally responded, "but I'm sure he'll tell  
us when he comes back."  
  
Will snorted. "_If_ he comes back. And I say that if he's not  
here by dawn, we go after him. Agreed?"  
  
They all nodded, Much more enthusiastically than the rest.  
Marion huddled deeper under her blanket. The uneasy band of  
outlaws finished dinner in silence, around the smoldering  
remains of their fire.  
  
# 


	3. Lessons

The Successor by Jennifer Campbell  
  
None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just  
having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear,  
when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No  
beta, so blame the typos on me.  
  
This is the third chapter of probably four or five. So if you  
enjoy this part, please check back in a few days for the next  
installment. And I would love to hear your feedback.  
  
#  
  
As Alison gathered their empty plates, young Matthew kept them  
entertained with another of his impressions. He screwed his face  
into a tense, tight-lipped expression, with one eye bulging  
larger than the other. He couldn't hold it for long, though, and  
soon broke into a wide grin.  
  
"And that's the Sheriff," he explained. "I saw him do that once  
when he came to collect the taxes, when he got _really_ angry."  
  
Robert chuckled, finding the comparison funny even though he  
had never met De Rainault. Robin and Edward, though, laughed  
uproariously, and Robin even ruffled the boy's thick hair.  
Thoroughly please with himself, Matthew giggled.  
  
Edward's son couldn't have been older than six, and he reminded  
Robert so much of the younger children in Huntingdon: Energetic,  
playful and much too perceptive for his age. Robert liked him  
immediately, as he liked Edward and his wife. They had treated  
him with graciousness and hospitality, offering what little they  
had to a complete stranger without hesitation. That he had come  
to respect this small family in so short a time surprised him,  
that he could have such an attitude toward Saxon peasants.  
  
Then again, he had never really bothered to know any peasants  
before. He had always been taught they were too far below his  
station to warrant his attention.  
  
"I'm sorry we don't have more to offer," Alison said as she  
finished clearing the tiny, roughly carved table. "We would have  
had even less, though, if Robin's men hadn't brought in all  
those rabbits earlier today."  
  
"So that's how they spent the afternoon," Robin mused. "I had  
wondered."  
  
"There's no need to apologize, Alison," Robert offered, rubbing  
his satisfied stomach. "The food was delicious. Thank you for  
such a feast."  
  
Alison raised her eyebrows. "Such manners. Robin, you should  
have this young man teach your men a thing or two about  
courtesy."  
  
"I might just do that," Robin answered, winking at Robert. He  
stood and gestured to Edward. "And now, Alison, if you'll let me  
borrow your husband for a moment?"  
  
Alison nodded, and Robin and Edward stepped outside the small  
house. For the first time all evening, Robert felt slightly  
uncomfortable, being left alone with Alison and Matthew, two  
people he hardly knew. Then Matthew tugged on his sleeve in an  
easy familiarity, and the tension dissipated.  
  
"Do you really live in Lincoln, Thomas?" Matthew asked  
excitedly, using the name Robert had given them upon his arrival  
in Wickham. "Father says you're from Lincoln."  
  
He nodded, inwardly wincing at the lie.  
  
"I've always wanted to go to Lincoln. It sounds so _big_ and  
exciting," the boy said. "And London, too. Have you ever been  
there?"  
  
"A few times," Robert answered with a small smile.  
  
"Will you tell me about it?"  
  
Alison laid a hand on her son's shoulder and smiled  
apologetically at Robert. "I'm sorry if he's bothering you,  
Thomas. Ever since we took him on a trip to Nottingham, he's  
been obsessed with seeing other places."  
  
"It's all right," Robert assured her, then looked to Matthew.  
"London is amazing. Probably the biggest city I've ever seen.  
The streets are lined with shops, and there are people  
everywhere."  
  
"Boys like me?" Matthew interjected.  
  
Robert nodded and answered with all the excitement of a  
storyteller. "Yes, boys like you. And grownups. And even lords  
and ladies, lots of them. When their carriages go by, all the  
people clear out of the way to watch them pass."  
  
Matthew's eager expression fell. "Oh," he said dejectedly. "I  
don't think I'd like London."  
  
"What do you mean?" Robert couldn't figure out what he had said  
to upset the boy. He had been trying to make London sound as  
fantastic and magical as possible.  
  
With a sad pout, Matthew bowed his head and refused to answer.  
Alison sighed as she pulled him into her arms, into the  
comforting embrace only a mother can give. "He's afraid of  
Normans," she explained, her voice hushed, as though not to  
further upset her son.  
  
"But why?"  
  
Matthew sniffled. "They come here and hit Father all the time.  
They're mean, and they take our food and our money for no  
reason."  
  
"The _Sheriff's_ men do this?" At Alison's solemn nod, Robert  
huffed. "Then there must be a good reason. The Sheriff is sworn  
to protect and serve. Why would he act thus toward the people of  
his shire?"  
  
From the doorway, Edward spoke. "Greed. Greed and power. The  
Sheriff, and Gisburne, care nothing for those who are so far  
below them. Just last month, they arrested a man from a village  
not far from here for letting his goats graze in the forest."  
  
"But they let him go ..." Robert prompted.  
  
Edward shrugged as he sat by his wife. "If they did, we've  
heard nothing of it. I suspect he's still in the Nottingham  
prison."  
  
Alison nodded, and said, "And just last week, two soldiers  
chased a 10-year-old boy for a mile for picking berries. They  
thought he was poaching, and they might have done something  
horrible if the boy hadn't found a place to hide from them."  
  
Robert could only gape in amazement at the stories. Such  
improbable tales, and yet, these people had no reason to lie. So  
what if it were true, and the Sheriff allowed these things, why  
was it happening? How could De Rainault, a man sworn to uphold  
the king's laws, abuse his power so shamelessly? To chase a boy  
for a mile, just for gathering food ... well, that simply  
wouldn't do.  
  
"Someone should bring this to the king's attention," Robert  
pronounced. "He'll have the Sheriff replaced."  
  
"And will he also replace every other sheriff and lord in  
England?" Robin asked. "De Rainault's tyranny is not unusual."  
  
_My father isn't like that_, Robert wanted to say, but he bit  
back the words. Here, he was Thomas of Lincoln, not the son of a  
Norman lord. For the first time he could remember, he felt  
ashamed of his noble upbringing, and of the ruthlessness of his  
people.  
  
"Something should be done," he muttered.  
  
"Something is done." Edward clapped a hand against Robin's  
shoulder. "At least here in Sherwood, we have Robin Hood and his  
men. They bring us food and money, and they protect us from  
bandits and from the Sheriff himself. If not for Robin, we would  
not survive as well as we do."  
  
"I -- I'm sorry." Robert looked at each of them in turn. He  
suddenly felt the need to apologize for his entire class,  
although he knew that was impossible. "I didn't know."  
  
"Nothing to be sorry about, lad," Edward said. "There's nothing  
any one man can do to curb the Normans' power. Unless, of  
course, you're Herne's Son."  
  
#  
  
Robert sat in the half-firm mud outside Edward's house, hardly  
noticing anymore the grime that further ruined his clothes.  
Stars splashed across the clear sky, and a light breeze ruffled  
his hair. Most of the village huts were dark now, indicating the  
people had all gone to bed. Robert, though, could not sleep, not  
with these troubled thoughts.  
  
He wrapped his arms tight against himself, pulled his knees to  
his chest and stared blankly at the stars. The night wasn't  
cold, but he felt a chill in his soul.  
  
Were all Saxons like Edward and his family, trying to scrape by  
despite the brutal treatment of their lords? Living a life that  
was no life at all? No, they couldn't all be like Edward. Only  
an exceptional man would have welcomed a stranger into his home  
with so little reservation, only on the word of an outlaw.  
Still, no man, Saxon peasant or Norman lord, deserved worse  
treatment than the castle livestock.  
  
No _man_ deserved it. Robert half-smiled at the thought. What  
was it Robin had said? _The people of Wickham are no higher or  
lower than you. They are human. We all are._ Maybe so, yet it  
defied everything Robert had been taught. It defied his very  
upbringing, and the blood flowing in his veins.  
  
The sound of a soft footstep drew his attention, and he glanced  
around, only to see Robin, watching him with questioning eyes.  
The outlaw squatted beside him, rubbed his hands together and  
looked up to the stars.  
  
"Beautiful, aren't they?" he said casually. "I see them every  
night, and yet I never get tired of them. When I was boy, I  
believed my father must be up there, watching over me."  
  
"He's dead?"  
  
Robin nodded. "He died when I was about Matthew's age. Killed  
by the Sheriff and his men."  
  
Robert lowered his eyes. Yet another travesty of his people,  
yet another wrongdoing to weigh heavily on his heart. "I'm  
sorry."  
  
"Why? You were hardly learning to talk when it happened."  
  
"Because ..." He hesitated, searching for the right words.  
"Because it's my people doing these things. I would have never  
believed it except that, somehow, I always knew. There are  
things that happen behind closed doors, and everyone who could  
stop it looks the other way. I guess, in a way, I've always been  
afraid to face it."  
  
"You can't carry the burden of every Norman who ever cuffed a  
man for an impudent word." He laid a broad hand on Robert's  
shoulder. "All you can atone for are your own mistakes."  
  
"Then I'm sorry for all the times I didn't stop soldiers from  
hurting the people who live on my father's land. I'm sorry for  
not caring about their position. And I'm sorry that I intended  
to kill you." He eyed Robin frankly. "I've been so selfish,  
thinking only of my own misery and desire for _glory_." He all  
but spat the last word. "All I knew about Robin Hood were  
stories of an outlaw breaking the king's law. I didn't  
understand why you did it."  
  
"And now you do?"  
  
"Not entirely. But I'm learning."  
  
Robin nodded with a weary sigh. "Most Normans, they're blind.  
They go through life without ever seeing what is really  
happening right under their noses. Or maybe they don't want to  
see because they couldn't live with the guilt."  
  
"Well, here is one less Norman for you to worry about." Robert  
spoke with all the sincerity of his tired heart. "My eyes opened  
tonight to the truth, and I won't ignore it. Not anymore."  
  
"Good man," Robin murmured, then rose to his feet. "Edward has  
offered to let us sleep in the mill tonight, so I suggest we  
turn in. It's been a long day, and we must be up early tomorrow."  
  
Robert obediently stood, brushed what little dirt he could from  
his pants, and followed Robin across the village square, toward  
the mill. Today had been traumatic enough, with its unexpected  
twists and revelations. What more could tomorrow bring?  
  
#  
  
For all his young life, Robert awoke to the rooster, crowing in  
the castle courtyard at the dawn of another day. Yet in Wickham,  
either the rooster neglected his duty or there was none at all,  
and so Robert slept long past sunrise, curled up in the mill  
loft and blissfully unaware of the teeming village around him.  
  
Finally, two men entered the building to tend the wheel, loudly  
discussing their plans for the day, and Robert slowly struggled  
to consciousness. His stretched out on the hay and groaned,  
every part of his body in agony. He was accustomed to hard  
riding, but the previous day's long walk through Sherwood -- and  
a night without his soft bed -- had strained underused muscles  
past their endurance.  
  
"Hello?" said a voice from below. "Is someone up there?"  
  
Robert leaned over the loft edge, slowly, so as to not further  
aggravate his body, and waved at them. "It's only me."  
  
The men looked at each other in confusion, then back at Robert.  
"And who are you?"  
  
Oh, yeah, Robert thought. He had only met a handful of people  
here, and obviously not these men. "I'm Thomas, of Lincoln, here  
with--"  
  
He stopped short at that and looked around the empty loft.  
Robin had stayed with him last night, but now the outlaw had  
abandoned him with no warning. Then again, Robin Hood probably  
didn't make a habit of sleeping in villages. He'd be back,  
though, seeing as Albion was still sheathed in the scabbard by  
Robert's side.  
  
"You're here with who?" one of the men prompted.  
  
"Edward." Robert named the villager for lack of any better  
plan. "I'm here at Edward's invitation. Do you know where I can  
find him?"  
  
The men visibly relaxed, and one said, "He's in the fields with  
the others. It's planting day, you know."  
  
"How do I find the fields?"  
  
Soon, with Albion clutched in his hand, Robert was passing  
through the square and heading out of the village, back toward  
the footbridge he and Robin had crossed the previous day.  
Sunshine beat down from a clear sky, infecting Robert with its  
cheerfulness. He felt refreshed, and free of the confining walls  
and rules of Huntingdon. Now, if only he could find the man who  
brought him here, this morning would be close to perfect.  
  
He soon found the villagers working in a vast expanse of loose  
dirt, creating shallow ruts, dropping in the seeds and then  
smoothing the dirt back into place. A few of the women were  
singing an energetic tune as they toiled. Even children helped.  
Robert spotted Matthew softly patting down dirt at his mother's  
side.  
  
Robert stood at the field's edge, careful not to tread on the  
newly planted seeds, and waved to Edward. The man wiped his  
sweaty forehead as he approached. He seemed exhausted from the  
hard labor, yet he still smiled.  
  
"Thomas, glad to see you're awake." He clasped Robert's arm in  
greeting. "I trust you slept well?"  
  
"Like a rock." He nodded toward the field. "Is Robin helping  
you? I don't see him ..."  
  
"Robin left before first light. Said he had some things to do  
but that he'd be back before long. He also said you might be  
willing to get your hands dirty, out in the field."  
  
Normally, the prospect of stooping to peasants' work would have  
made Robert cringe, but not this morning. Not ever again. He  
grinned and stretched his arms wide in preparation for, well,  
whatever the villagers would have him do.  
  
"Why not. I need to work out a few kinks."  
  
Edward chuckled. "That's not surprising. Keeping up with Robin  
would test any man's endurance." He gestured toward a worker in  
the field, who came over to join them. "Thomas, this is Ethan.  
He'll help you get started."  
  
Ethan stood several inches taller than Robert, with shoulders  
like a bear. He looked down at Robert as though he weren't worth  
crushing in one beefy fist, and he nodded back toward the field.  
  
"You better be a quick study because I don't have time to  
explain things," he said. "We have a lot to get done today."  
  
With that, he returned to the field without waiting to see  
whether Robert would follow. Robert carefully laid Albion in the  
tall grasses surrounding the planting field, assured himself  
that it was out of sight, and then tromped out among the rows of  
seeds. He and Ethan started by pacing up and down, sprinkling  
seeds into already made ruts. It was mindless work, not to  
mention sweaty and thirsty, but Robert enjoyed it just the same.  
It made him feel appreciated, useful.  
  
More than that, it lifted a tiny portion of the guilt weighing  
on his heart, and it helped him to feel free.  
  
#  
  
Robin reached camp not long after daybreak, but already his men  
had gone. All they'd left were the ashes of their burned out  
campfire, and tracks headed toward the stream. They were  
following his day-old trail. Robin had no doubts of their  
ability to track him anywhere.  
  
Eventually, his path would lead to the road, where he had met  
Robert, and then to Wickham. He had other concerns this morning  
than catching up with his gang, so he would meet them in the  
village later, and give them a lecture about taking off on their  
own -- without orders and without him.  
  
He jogged from the abandoned camp at a comfortable, ground-  
eating pace. The sun had not yet reached its zenith when Herne's  
lair came into view. Despite the bright day, a perpetual mist  
hung low over the lake, as though the forest god were standing  
apart from the daylight itself.  
  
Robin polled a small boat across the lake, into fog so thick he  
could see no more than a few feet ahead of him. Yet he had come  
this way so many times, he could navigate it blindfolded. The  
boat teetered each time he shifted his weight, threatening to  
pitch him into the black waters; still, he managed to stay  
upright. The mouth of Herne's cave soon yawned before him, and  
he directed his unstable craft through the opening and docked.  
  
Herne, who had shed his antlered costume, greeted him with a  
scowl. Without the trappings, he seemed only an old man, but  
Robin had learned to know better. Here in his lair, with or  
without his ancient symbols, Herne's power grew stronger than  
ever.  
  
"I did not call you," Herne snapped as Robin stepped off the  
boat. "Why have you come?"  
  
Robin gulped nervously but refused to lower his eyes, the  
universal admission of wrongdoing. "I need your advice, Herne.  
On Robert of Huntingdon."  
  
Herne's expression softened a bit. "What is it you wish to know?"  
  
"I have shown him the plight of the people of Sherwood, and  
he's understood what he has seen. What should I do now? Lead him  
back to Huntingdon?"  
  
"When this is finished," Herne answered, "the boy must return  
to his home. But the lesson is not yet complete."  
  
"What must I do, then?"  
  
"You can do nothing. Now, the pupil and the teacher become one  
and the same. You have shown young Robert the path, but only he  
can decide whether to walk it."  
  
Robin's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."  
  
"Come, then." Herne beckoned for him to follow, to the stone  
altar and flaming brazier at the cave's center. He lifted a full  
cup from the altar and set it in Robin's hands. "Drink, and more  
will be made clear."  
  
Robin slowly, almost hesitantly, lifted the cup to his lips.  
The bitter liquid slid down his throat, like both ice and molten  
rock. He began to feel lightheaded the moment it hit his  
stomach, and his vision began to blur. He felt Herne lift the  
cup from his hands.  
  
"Look into the flame," Herne directed, and Robin obeyed. "The  
flame will tell all. You see, how it is changing ..."  
  
And Robin did _see_. Two blades, Albion and the earl's jewel-  
encrusted sword, drifted side by side, drawn together yet not  
quite connecting ... Albion, held tight in Robert's white-  
knuckled fist, as two Nottingham soldiers bore down on him on  
horseback, their swords drawn. Robert stood alone, so very  
alone, and poised for a fight, as the two war horses raced ever  
closer, closer, closer ... Robin's own gang ran into battle, on  
an open field. The enemy outnumbered them two-to-one, and yet  
they ran in with abandon, weapons drawn ... sword clashed, as  
the outlaws faced soldiers on horseback, Gisburne himself fought  
them, an expression of grit and arrogance marring his face. One  
man went down with an arrow in his shoulder, yet Robin could not  
tell who ... the scene faded, returned to the two swords, yet  
this time they touched at the tip and melted into one another  
until only Albion remained, shining bright as the sun.  
  
All went dark, and Robin's vision cleared to become the flame  
once again.  
  
"It is done," Herne pronounced. "The seeing is over."  
  
"Robert, and my men. They're in danger," Robin murmured. Unlike  
with previous visions, this one carried a terrible sense of  
urgency. Whatever would happen, he had little time to prepare.  
  
"No matter what, the boy _must_ live." Herne's expression grew  
intently serious. "You are the hope of the present, but he is  
the hope for the future. Without him, all is lost."  
  
Robin nodded. "I understand."  
  
"Go, now," Herne ordered, "and do what you must. My blessings  
go with you." 


	4. Defiance

The Successor by Jennifer Campbell  
  
None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just  
having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear,  
when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No  
beta, so blame the typos on me.  
  
This is the fourth chapter with more to come. So if you enjoy  
this part, please check back later for the next installment. And  
I would love to hear your feedback.  
  
Extra note: I owe a giant apology to all those who started  
reading this story back in May. I made an implied promise to you  
all that I would continue writing, and I failed to live up to  
that promise. This chapter perhaps isn't as long as the others,  
but I wanted to get it out here, to show I haven't forgotten The  
Successor and am back to writing it. I hope to finish soon.  
Thank you for your patience.  
  
#  
  
Robin's gang came to the road at midmorning. They halted  
beneath the undergrowth that lined the broad strip of dirt, one  
of the least-used roads to Nottingham, and scanned the area. No  
travelers or soldiers were in sight. Will was the first to walk  
into the open, followed by Marion and the others a moment later.  
  
As the group stood by and watched, Nasir knelt in the road,  
touching his fingertips to the prints of feet and hooves still  
pressed in the dirt. He moved slowly, cautiously about the area  
and pointed to a sturdy tree branch above them.  
  
"Two men on horses," he said. "I think Robin ambushes them from  
up there."  
  
"How can you know that?" Will demanded.  
  
"Neither horse passes that branch, and both go back down the  
road." Nasir knelt again to examine markings in the dust. "Three  
men come here, and two leave on foot." He pointed into the  
trees. "They go that way."  
  
"Only two?" Will started pacing, as he always did when  
especially impatient. "Well, that's great. _Which_ two, Nasir?"  
  
Nasir calmly regarded Will. "I don't know."  
  
Much piped up, "And what happened to the third one?"  
  
No one answered, and Marion lowered her eyes to the scuffles  
and ruts in the dirt. Nasir could read such signs like a book,  
but to her, they meant little and offered even less comfort.  
Could Robin have met his successor here? If they had fought, who  
had won? Only two left on foot. Marion clenched her fists in  
frustration, fearing the worst for her beloved.  
  
"No blood," Nasir murmured. He touched his fingertips to the  
dirt.  
  
"What was that?" Will asked.  
  
"There is no blood. So perhaps no one died. Yet one fell here."  
He pointed to a spot that looked much like the others to Marion.  
"And was dragged --"  
  
"I found something!" John yelled from off the road.  
  
Marion quickly hitched up her skirt around her calves and ran  
toward John. If this was a clue to Robin's disappearance, or if  
it were Robin himself ...  
  
Just off the road, cleverly concealed in the undergrowth,  
curled up and fast asleep, they found a brown-haired boy. No,  
Marion corrected herself -- he looked closer to manhood than  
childhood. Not much younger than herself, in fact. He carried a  
sword, and tied to his belt was a purse, heavy with coins.  
  
She breathed a sigh of relief at what this meant: If two had  
left the road, as Nasir said, Robin was alive. Or at least he  
had been after a scuffle here. Still, why he had left with a  
stranger? If this mysterious rider was Robin's successor, where  
had they gone to? Too many questions, and no answers.  
  
Tuck leaned over and gently nudged the sleeping figure with his  
boot. The boy shifted slightly but did not wake. "He's alive, at  
least."  
  
"We need to wake him up," Marion said. "He might know what  
happened to Robin."  
  
"Right." Will grinned mischievously. "Allow me."  
  
He knelt beside the sleeping figure, carefully untied the purse  
and threw it to John. Then Will poked the boy a couple of times  
in the shoulder, with no reaction. He cleared his throat noisily  
and, with one more grin for his companions, leaned over to the  
boy's ear.  
  
"Hey!" he yelled. "Wake up!"  
  
The boy's eyes snapped open but remained unfocused as he looked  
at them. He blinked a couple of times, slowly sat up, groaned  
and clutched at his head. Then he scanned the gang again, and  
his gaze finally came to rest on Marion.  
  
"What is this? Where am I?" he asked, still a little dazed.  
  
"You're in Sherwood," Marion answered gently. She waved back  
the others, who had inched forward. The young man needed room to  
breathe, not a bunch of rough-and-tumble men huddled about in  
curiosity.  
  
The boy shook himself. "Sherwood?"  
  
"Yeah," Will supplied sarcastically. "Big forest. Lots of trees."  
  
"Will ..." Marion gave him a warning look. Will bowed his head  
and backed away, and Marion knelt at the boy's side. "Do you  
remember what happened? How you got here?"  
  
Another dazed shake of the head, then, "Robert ... where is he?"  
  
Robert. The other rider, no doubt. And someone they needed more  
information about if they were to learn what had happened to  
Robin.  
  
"I don't know where he is," she answered cautiously. "Maybe if  
you tell us who he is, and who you are ..."  
  
He hesitated a moment, eyes narrowing. "Why should I tell you?  
You're bandits. ... Wait, you're Robin Hood's men, aren't you?"  
At Marion's nod, he gasped and scrambled away from her, up to  
his feet. Shakily, he drew his sword. "You killed Robert, didn't  
you? I'll kill you!"  
  
They all drew back in surprise, except for Tuck, who stepped  
forward with hands raised before him. "We don't know any Robert,  
and we mean you no harm."  
  
The boy teetered and steadied himself on a tree behind him. The  
blow to his head had obviously left him a little unsteady. "I  
don't believe you. You attacked us. You knocked me off my horse  
and killed Robert. You're animals!"  
  
Will snorted. "Got that last part right, at least."  
  
Tuck silenced Will with a glance, then stepped closer to the  
boy. "I'm a man of God. I won't lie to you. We had nothing to do  
with your attack."  
  
The sword drooped a little. "Then tell me what happened."  
  
Tuck looked to Marion for assistance, and she moved up beside  
him. "We don't know what happened," she soothed. "But we think  
your Robert left here with Robin."  
  
The boy sputtered, "But that's impossible. Robert wouldn't... I  
mean, he --" He took a deep breath. "Robert wouldn't consort  
with an outlaw."  
  
Will sighed loudly. "Look, this kid obviously don't know  
nothing. We're wasting our time here when we should be following  
the trail. If we find Robin too late ..."  
  
He left the words hanging among them. Marion felt a chill and  
drew her arms about herself, and the others shifted nervously.  
No one finished the warning, but Marion was certain they all  
understood the implication: If Robin died, then his cause died  
with him.  
  
Much was the first to speak. "Let's follow him, then. He can't  
be far."  
  
Silence for a moment, then John said, "Much is right. We need  
to keep moving if we're going to find out what's going on."  
  
The boy stepped forward, more steady on his feet now, and  
sheathed his sword. With an authority only one born to privilege  
could muster, he said, "I'm going with you, then."  
  
Will snorted. "No, you're not."  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"No, you're --" Will caught himself, breathed out slowly and  
said, as though explaining to a small child, "Look, I understand  
your concern for your friend. But we don't have time for this.  
If you follow the road, it'll take you out of the forest."  
  
"I can't go back without Robert." His air of nobility vanished,  
replaced with only a scared, worried young man. "You have no  
idea what the Earl would do to me. I have to find Robert, or I  
can't go back at all." When no one responded, he added,  
"Besides, you can't stop me. If you leave me here, I'll only  
follow."  
  
"Well, you could _try_," Will muttered.  
  
The men took turns looking at each other, as though silently  
asking anyone else to tell the boy he couldn't come. Marion  
merely studied the young man and knew he meant every word. He  
would try to follow -- and probably lose himself in the forest.  
All the stubbornness in the world wouldn't save him then, if he  
couldn't find his way out.  
  
"You can come," she said softly, and no one challenged her  
decision.  
  
"And I want my money back." He looked pointedly at the pouch in  
John's hands.  
  
"Don't press your luck," Will shot back.  
  
A low chuckle circulated the group, and they all prepared to  
go. Nasir started hunting for signs of passage, inspecting  
snapped branches and trampled leaves. Meanwhile, John approached  
the new addition to their group and laid a companionable arm  
around the boy's shoulders. Marion watched the exchange with a  
small smile, grateful that at least John was supporting her  
decision to let the boy join them.  
  
"What's your name, lad?" he asked gently.  
  
"Kyle."  
  
"Well, Kyle, stay quiet, don't ask too many questions, and keep  
up. Understand?"  
  
The boy nodded.  
  
"Good." John patted Kyle's back and turned to the others.  
"Shall we be on our way, then?"  
  
#  
  
Robert stopped dropping seeds long enough to wipe his sleeve  
against his sweaty forehead. What he wouldn't give for a taste  
of crisp, cool water from the Huntingdon well right now, and  
maybe some biscuits from the kitchen. He and Kyle had been  
masters of sneaking food out from under the cook's notice, but  
they had been caught just as often.  
  
Robert smiled at the memory. It made no difference down there  
in the castle's depths whether the thief was a stableboy or an  
earl's son, for all got the same treatment -- swept out with a  
broom, the cook's shrill complaints chasing after.  
  
At the thought of Kyle, he paused again. He wondered whether  
his friend had woken up and made his way back to the castle.  
Robert fervently hoped Kyle hadn't wandered into Sherwood,  
confused and alone. Without a guide, the forest could prove  
deadly, and Robert would wish that on no one, least of all his  
boyhood companion.  
  
"Keep up the pace, boy!" Ethan, his taskmaster, nudged him from  
behind, and Robert resumed his seed-dropping. "We can't have you  
dallying when the sun is already so low in the sky."  
  
Robert shaded his eyes and looked up. "It can't be much past  
midday."  
  
"Are you going to challenge me on that?" Ethan's voice dropped  
dangerously low, the threat obvious behind his words.  
  
"No," Robert answered quickly. No sense in antagonizing a man  
twice his size.  
  
"Good. Now get to work."  
  
So passed the next hour. A pretty young woman, about Robert's  
age, occasionally brought him a ladle-full of water, along with  
her shy smile. She wore her long brown hair in braids, and her  
name, he found out, was Bethany. Robert contented himself with  
flashing her charming smiles and watching her blush.  
  
Bethany had just moved on to the next thirsty worker, with one  
last look for him over her shoulder, as Robert reached the end  
of his row. A quick glance into the nearby grass confirmed that  
Albion still lay undisturbed.  
  
He grabbed another handful of seeds, with a passing curiosity  
of what exactly he was planting -- he hadn't bothered to ask --  
when he noticed a disturbance ripple across the field. The  
people of Wickham froze as one, heads whipping to look north. A  
moment later, Robert heard it: hoof beats, like a low rumble of  
thunder. He followed everyone else's lead and strained to see  
what was coming.  
  
Men on horseback galloped out of the forest. As they drew  
closer, Robert made out their matching helmets and blue capes.  
Soldiers, probably from Nottingham. At least a dozen of them  
pulled up on the planting field, no care for trampling the  
villager's hard work beneath their horses' hooves. Most of the  
villagers cowered back.  
  
Robert felt his cheeks burn in anger. How dare these soldiers  
have so little regard for their people! Then again, he too had  
viewed the Saxons as little better than animals as recently as a  
couple of days ago. He wanted to run forward and turn the  
horsemen back, but instead he waited to see how this would play  
out.  
  
One soldier, dressed in finer armor than the rest, urged his  
horse forward a few paces and yelled, "Edward of Wickham!"  
  
Robert's throat tightened as Edward stepped forward and bowed.  
"My Lord Gisburne, can I do something for you?"  
  
Gisburne responded, in a haughty tone, "The town of Wickham is  
late in paying its taxes. I'm here to collect. Five marks."  
  
"My lord, we don't have that much money," Edward said. "If we  
could pay, we would. But it's impossible."  
  
"You will pay, or your pathetic village will suffer the  
consequences." He waved two men forward, who rode to either side  
of Edward and stood guard. "I'm placing you under arrest."  
  
"On what charge?" Edward asked, anger edging into his voice.  
  
"On failure to pay the king's taxes, of course." Gisburne  
raised his voice for all to hear. "We are taking this man to  
Nottingham. If your taxes are not paid in seven day's time, he  
will be executed, and we will be back for another of you. This  
will continue until you have paid, or you're all dead."  
  
Villagers gasped. The two soldier's grabbed Edward's arms, and  
he struggled against them.  
  
"My lord, you can't do that!" Edward protested.  
  
"I just did."  
  
"But how can we pay our taxes if you kill us? We must all work  
to earn our money."  
  
"You should have thought of that before. Now it's too late."  
Gisburne waved one mailed hand at his men. "Tie him up. We're  
leaving."  
  
"NO!"  
  
The outraged declaration made even Gisburne stop and look  
around. Robert did the same, until he realized that the voice to  
yell out had been his own. Simultaneously, he noticed that he  
now held Albion, unsheathed, tight in his fist, although he  
couldn't remember going to fetch it. He gulped hard.  
  
"Who said that?" Gisburne demanded, pulling his horse around.  
"Show yourself."  
  
A strange feeling came over Robert, as though he were outside  
himself, watching his body step forward of its own volition. The  
voice that passed his lips hardly sounded like his own, cold and  
commanding.  
  
"Look here, _my lord_," he spat. "And let Edward go."  
  
Gisburne kicked his mount forward and stopped directly before  
Robert. He stared down at him from under his helmet. "I don't  
recognize you. You're not of Wickham."  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
He raised Albion before him. "Robert of Huntingdon, son of the  
Earl of Huntingdon. And if you know what is best, you will let  
these people be."  
  
For a moment, dead silence descended on them all. Edward stared  
at him in shock, as did the other villagers, but Robert gave  
them only cursory notice. Even Gisburne stared at him in  
disbelief, but then he chuckled and relaxed.  
  
"Do you really expect me to believe that an earl's son would be  
helping a group of peasants plant their fields? Look at  
yourself. Look at your clothes. If you're a nobleman, then I'm  
King Richard."  
  
Robert grinned despite himself and bowed deeply, mockingly.  
"Your majesty. I didn't recognize you."  
  
Gisburne growled. "Enough of this. Kill him!"  
  
He turned his back on Robert and rode away, but two of the  
soldiers started forward, first at a walk, then speeding up to a  
canter. They came at him with swords drawn, one on either side  
to cut him down.  
  
Again, the feeling of standing outside himself fell over  
Robert, like he was watching this happen to someone else,  
perhaps on a theater stage. He wondered, detached, how it was  
that an earl's son had found himself in such a situation,  
defending Saxons against his own kind? These past couple of days  
were something like a dream; they couldn't possibly be real.  
  
The soldiers came closer, almost atop him. He raised Albion.  
  
With almost absolute certainty, Robert knew the dream was about  
to end.  
  
#  
  
to be continued (soon) ... 


	5. Battle

The Successor  
by Jennifer Campbell  
  
None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just  
having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear,  
when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No  
beta, so blame the typos on me.  
  
Whoo-hoo! It's taken me way too long, but the story is  
finally finished. Time to pop the champagne.  
  
#  
  
Robin loped through the forest, so much like the wolf his  
enemies had branded him to be. He hurdled boulders and  
fallen logs, not caring when he landed in water, or when  
branches whipped his face and left their sting. Sweat, like  
acid, dripped in his eyes, and his lungs burned, but he  
refused to rest. In this race, time worked against him.  
  
Faster, faster.  
  
The vision, so sharp in Herne's flame, pushed him to run.  
In his mind's eye, he could see his friends charging into  
battle on open ground, outnumbered, and one of their number  
falling with a bolt in his shoulder. And he could see young  
Robert, so defiant as he faced down two Nottingham soldiers  
on horseback. It would happen soon. He had to reach Wickham  
quickly, to avert disaster. Should one of his men die, he  
would not easily forgive himself. And should Robert die ...  
  
_He is the hope for the future. Without him, all is lost._  
  
So Herne had said, and Robin knew the truth of it. He knew  
he would not live forever -- he had accepted long ago that  
each day could be his last -- and someone must come after to  
carry on his fight for justice. He always had thought it  
would be one of his men -- John, most likely. Strange  
that instead, that one should be a nobleman's son, born of  
the very people Robin battled, but he did not question  
Herne's wisdom.  
  
So he ran. Until his legs burned, and the ache in his  
chest became a searing pain. He heard Herne's words,  
repeated like a mantra in his mind.  
  
_A man is coming to the forest. One intended to follow in  
your steps. ... He is the hope for the future. Without him,  
all is lost._  
  
Faster, faster.  
  
#  
  
The outlaws crouched in the undergrowth, eyes fixed on the  
open field before them. At the same time they had arrived,  
Gisburne and his men had galloped onto the scene, trampling  
newly planted seeds and causing the people of Wickham to  
cower in fear. The soldiers outnumbered Robin's men 2-to-1,  
and those weren't odds the outlaws liked. Plus, they had  
seen no sign of Robin. So they stayed hidden, and waited.  
  
On Marion's left sat Will, muttering angrily under his  
breath, and on her right was Kyle, who shifted nervously  
and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Their hiding  
place was too far away to hear voices, but the implications  
were clear enough when two soldiers grabbed Edward and held  
him as he struggled. At the field's edge, Alison fell to  
her knees and stopped Matthew from running to his father's  
aid.  
  
Will clenched his fists. "They're dead men."  
  
"Not yet," said John, on Will's other side. "Wait until  
they're back in the forest."  
  
"I know that," Will snapped.  
  
The soldiers secured Edward between their horses, and  
Gisburne turned his mount to leave. But before they could  
go more than a couple of steps, before the outlaws could  
regroup to follow, a voice ripped out, audible even to  
Marion and the others.  
  
"NO!"  
  
Everyone froze. Marion strained to see who dared to  
challenge Gisburne, and her eyes fell on a golden-haired  
young man standing at the field's edge, a sword in his  
hand. She didn't recognize him. He certainly did not come  
from Wickham, as the outlaws knew all the villagers by name.  
  
"Is he insane?" Will asked no one in particular. "He's  
gonna get himself killed."  
  
Kyle gasped. "Robert!"  
  
Before anyone could prevent it, Kyle jumped up into full  
view. Marion, moving quicker than the others, grabbed his  
shirt and jerked him down to his knees. Fortunately, with  
all attention focused on the challenger, no soldier had  
noticed the outburst.  
  
"Stay down," Marion hissed.  
  
"But, Robert ... he's in trouble! I'm his squire, and it's  
my duty to help him."  
  
"By getting yourself killed?" Marion chided, and Kyle  
looked at her helplessly. "Be patient. They'll probably  
take him prisoner, and we'll get him back once they're in  
the forest."  
  
"Or maybe not," Will said, pointing. "Look."  
  
Two soldiers had drawn their swords and were bearing down  
on Robert. He looked so small, standing there with his  
weapon raised, moving not a muscle as the horsemen drew  
closer. The Wickham villagers, except for Alison and  
Matthew, used the opportunity to flee toward their homes.  
Kyle dug his fingernails into his palms and made strangling  
noises.  
  
At the last moment, just as the soldiers brought down  
their swords, Robert tumbled to the ground while slashing  
up with his blade, ripping apart the saddle cinch on one of  
the horses. The soldier slid off, thudded hard in the dirt  
and struggled to free himself from his stirrups. The fall  
had dislodged the soldier's helmet, so Robert brought his  
hilt down on the man's head and knocked him out.  
  
Marion released the breath she hadn't even realized she  
had been holding. Robert knew how to use a sword, and was  
more than capable of defending himself.  
  
So was this young man the successor Robin had spoken of?  
She recognized that the passion of her husband, to protect  
the weak and fight injustice, also consumed Robert. And she  
no longer feared that Robin and Robert had come to blows,  
not after seeing Robert face down Nottingham soldiers. No  
such man could be the outlaws' enemy. Still, if Robert was  
this mysterious successor, then where was Robin? Why had  
her husband led his young charge to Wickham and then  
abandoned him there? It made no sense.  
  
"Not bad," commented Tuck, as Robert readied himself for  
another pass. "He's smart."  
  
"Smart won't save him against all that," Will said, and  
Marion elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
The remaining horseman came around for another go.  
Meanwhile, Gisburne barked at his men, and the entire  
company of soldiers drew their swords.  
  
"See," Will said. "Told ya."  
  
"They're going to run him down!" Kyle yelled, then  
scrambled to his feet and, before anyone could stop him,  
went running toward the field. He was bellowing at the top  
of his lungs, which was enough to catch the soldiers'  
startled attention.  
  
John looked at his fellow outlaws. "Now what?"  
  
For an answer, Nasir rose to his feet, drew both swords  
and took off after Kyle. As one, the others jumped up and  
followed, with Will, John and Much yelling the whole way.  
Marion hitched up her skirts with one hand and pulled out  
the sword Robin had given to her with the other.  
  
This wasn't their best of ideas, she thought as she ran  
behind John. But the soldiers had redirected their  
attention from Robert to the outlaws, and that was good. No  
one who had the courage to challenge that rat Gisburne  
should have to face the consequences alone.  
  
Then they reached the field, and she no longer had time to  
think.  
  
#  
  
All around Robert, Nottingham soldiers were drawing their  
weapons and closing in. One man he could take out, and  
maybe a few others, but he couldn't single-handedly defeat  
the entire group. He wished that Kyle were with him, or  
Robin. At least then they would stand a chance of surviving  
this insanity.  
  
But wishing wouldn't make it happen, and Robert had only  
Albion to defend himself with against the Sheriff's men. He  
had to make the most of it. Running was out of the option,  
as the mounted soldiers would easily catch him. His best  
chance, he decided, was to knock as many of them off their  
horses as possible, and at least put them all on the same  
footing.  
  
Behind him, Gisburne and his men slowly advanced. Ahead  
was the remaining horseman, coming fast. The cinch trick  
wouldn't work again, so Robert merely blocked the soldier's  
sword as he rode past. The impact reverberated down his  
arms, but he stayed on his feet. He turned to face Gisburne  
and his men.  
  
The soldiers stopped. They reined in as one, horse hooves  
sinking into the soft planting dirt, and stared past  
Robert, toward the tree line. Robert dared to glance over  
his shoulder, and his hope suddenly returned. Several men  
were running up the hill, swords glinting in the sunlight,  
and in the lead was...  
  
"Kyle!" Robert grinned and laughed for his good fortune.  
Surely this rag-tag group must be Robin's gang, and if so,  
then he might survive the day after all. But he didn't see  
Robin himself, and that made him worry. If he wasn't with  
his men, then where was he?  
  
Behind him, Gisburne barked, "Outlaws! Kill them!"  
  
Horses thundered past Robert. They seemed to have  
forgotten him, so he used the opportunity to cut the saddle  
of another soldier. The man rolled to his feet and, with an  
angry yell, charged at Robert.  
  
Robert had practiced long and hard with a sword, and  
Albion proved the most well-crafted, easily handled weapon  
he had ever held. But he had never before found himself in  
a true battle, kill or be killed. The Earl wouldn't risk  
his only heir like that, but now those years of protection  
worked against him. His heart raced, and he experienced a  
terrifying moment in which he thought perhaps his training  
would fail him.  
  
The soldier handled his sword clumsily, though, and  
Robert's confidence grew. Within seconds, the soldier had  
raised his sword too high, aiming a downward chop at  
Robert's neck, and Robert used the opening to skewer him  
through the stomach. Albion slid in smooth, encountering  
little resistance, and came out sheathed in blood. The  
soldier fell. Robert lost his breakfast all over the  
corpse. He had never killed a man before.  
  
He didn't have time to recover, though, or think about  
what he had just done. Below him on the grassy hill, Kyle  
and the outlaws were holding their own. With no guard,  
Edward had gone to his family, and the three were running  
back toward the village. And before him, Gisburne had  
dismounted and was approaching on foot. Only minutes  
before, he had shown contempt for Robert, but now he moved  
more cautiously.  
  
"The outlaws came to save _you_," Gisburne said. "Who are  
you that they would do this?"  
  
"I've already told you."  
  
"Son of the Earl of Huntingdon? Do you really think a  
bunch of outlaws would care what happens to a nobleman's  
brat? Or that a nobleman would care what happens to these  
peasants?" Gisburne sneered "Who are you _really_?"  
  
"I have no other answer to give," Robert said, enjoying  
the mystery that had grown around him. "Does it really  
matter, anyway?"  
  
"Since I'm about to kill you ... No."  
  
"Let's get on with it, then."  
  
Gisburne obliged. Their swords met with an arm-numbing  
crash. They had traded only a few blows before Robert found  
himself on the retreat. He had the training, but Gisburne  
had experience, and it showed. Robert thrust at his  
opponent's stomach, in a desperate attempt to gain the  
advantage, but Gisburne jumped aside, grabbed Robert's  
wrist and brought his sword hilt down on Robert's hand.  
Albion fell to the dirt.  
  
Robert didn't have time to reach for his weapon before  
Gisburne would kill him, so he did the only thing he could.  
He ran.  
  
#  
  
Robin arrived, out of breath, just in time to see a  
mounted soldier take aim at Will with his crossbow.  
  
"Will, look out!" Robin yelled, but the warning came too  
late. The bolt hit Will in the shoulder, and he went down  
with an enraged yell.  
  
Robin forced his exhausted legs to keep moving, up the  
hill to Will's side, just in time to block a killing blow.  
The soldier's eyes grew wide when he realized whom he was  
facing, and he turned and ran. Robin helped Will to his  
feet.  
  
"'Bout time you got here," Will muttered, and he fingered  
the bolt sticking out of his shoulder.  
  
"Get back under cover," Robin ordered. "You can't do any  
more good like that."  
  
"Like hell I can't!" Will smirked and ran back into the  
battle.  
  
Robin knew he would have to deal with that insubordination  
later, but now he had no time. He looked around frantically  
for Robert, and finally spotted him, racing down the hill  
at top speed, Gisburne close behind. Gisburne drew a dagger  
from his belt and pulled back to throw.  
  
"Robert, down!" Robin yelled, and Robert dove for the  
grass. Gisburne's dagger flew overhead and hit one of his  
own men in the back. Robin brandished his sword and  
shouted, "Gisburne!"  
  
At that, Gisburne saw Robin, grinned and started toward  
him. Robert took the opportunity to run back up the hill --  
Robin could only assume he was going to retrieve Albion.  
  
Robin positioned himself as best he could on the downhill  
and waited for Gisburne. They had fought so many times  
before that they knew each other's style and movement, and  
had trouble landing any surprises. In a strange way, it  
felt comfortable fighting Gisburne, like putting on a well-  
worn pair of shoes.  
  
They faced off with the usual moves, blades clashing.  
Robin felt slightly off-balance, as he was fighting with an  
unfamiliar weapon, but he held is own. He slowly managed to  
reverse their positions, with Gisburne below him on the  
hill, and he pushed forward aggressively. He slipped a move  
past Gisburne's defenses and stab him in the shoulder. It  
was enough to end the fight.  
  
"Retreat!" Gisburne yelled. He ran for his horse, and  
Robin let him go. The few remaining mounted soldiers  
galloped toward the road, and the ones on foot went  
searching for their mounts.  
  
A quick scan of his gang confirmed that no one had died,  
and only Will had been injured. Robert was walking back  
down the hill, Albion in his hand. Another young man stood  
farther down the hill with a blood-covered sword, staring  
at a corpse, and Robin recognized him as Robert's  
companion. He breathed out heavily in relief and sent a  
silent thanks to Herne. Everyone had survived for another  
day.  
  
#  
  
Continued ... 


	6. Going home

The Successor, epilogue  
by Jennifer Campbell  
  
None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just  
having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear,  
when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No  
beta, so blame the typos on me.  
  
#  
  
Some of the villagers had taken the dead soldiers into the  
forest for burial -- an inconvenient duty, but they had  
nothing else to do with the bodies. The remaining villagers  
had gathered in the main square with Robin and his gang.  
  
It had been a joyous reunion between Robert and Kyle, with  
the hugs and back-slappings of good friends. Marion had  
kissed Robin senseless right there on the hilltop, in front  
of everyone, but he didn't mind. He regretted having put  
her, and all of his men, through the ordeal of the past  
couple of days. But he had only done what Herne had asked  
of him, and no one could fault him for that.  
  
After a whirlwind of people came past Robin to thank him  
and his gang for saving them -- despite the ruined planting  
field -- Robin ended up at the village's edge with only  
Marion, Kyle and Robert. He unsheathed Robert's kingly  
sword and, with one last regretful look at the jewel-  
encrusted hilt, held it out to Robert across both palms.  
  
"Your sword," he said. "Although I wouldn't mind keeping  
it. These jewels are worth a fortune and could feed the  
villages of Sherwood for months."  
  
Robert hesitated, but then accepted the weapon. "I would  
give you the jewels, except my father would disown me for  
the rest of my life."  
  
"I understand," Robin said with a smile.  
  
Robert unsheathed Albion and held it out. "This is an  
amazing sword. I was proud to carry it, although I didn't  
do it justice." He stared unseeing at the runes etched into  
the blade. "Gisburne disarmed me so easily. I feel like a  
fool."  
  
"You're just inexperienced," Marion said gently.  
  
"It won't happen again," Robert said as Robin took back  
Albion. "Next time, I'll defeat him."  
  
"What next time?" Kyle asked with a chuckle. "You're not  
going to run into anyone from Nottingham in Huntingdon."  
  
Robert set his jaw in a determined look, puffed up his  
chest a little and declared, "I'm not going back to  
Huntingdon."  
  
"What?!" Kyle exclaimed.  
  
"I'm staying here. In Sherwood."  
  
"Oh, no you're not. I didn't follow you into the middle of  
the forest just to go back alone. Lord Edgar would beat me  
black and blue, and then banish me."  
  
"Your friend is right," Robin said. "You can't stay here."  
  
"Why not?" Robert asked. "For the first time in my life, I  
feel like I _belong_ somewhere. I know that this is where  
I'm  
supposed to be, with your band, fighting for these people."  
He gestured toward the village. "I don't belong in  
Huntingdon anymore."  
  
"The time isn't right," Robin insisted.  
  
Robert's eyes narrowed angrily and he opened his mouth to  
protest, but no sound came out. He was staring beyond  
Robin, back into the forest. Robin twisted around to look,  
fearing to see more soldiers, but it was quite the  
opposite. A strange mist had gathered among the trees, and  
cloaked in it stood an imposing, familiar figure. Robin  
knew what he had to do.  
  
"You stay here," he said to Marion and Kyle, then grabbed  
Robert's forearm. "And you ... come with me."  
  
He half-dragged Robert toward the mist. It engulfed them  
as soon as they left the clearing, creating an enchanted  
scene. As always, the forest became eerily silent. At his  
side, Robert shivered.  
  
"Herne," Robin greeted his master and dropped to his  
knees. Robert, visibly shaken and confused, followed his  
lead but couldn't stop gaping at the horned figure before  
them.  
  
Herne raised his arms. "Welcome, Robert of Huntingdon."  
  
"Who are you?" Robert asked, his voice steady despite the  
strange situation.  
  
"I am Herne, lord of the trees, and you will know me soon  
enough. But that time has not yet come."  
  
"What do you mean? That I cannot stay here?"  
  
"Sherwood is not your home."  
  
"But what about the others? Edward and Alison and Matthew?  
What about the people of Wickham? I can help them."  
  
"They will not remember you, nor will anyone you have met  
since you came to the forest, except for my son. And you  
must not seek to return. To shift the balance would ruin  
all."  
  
"I -- I don't understand. What must I do, then?"  
  
"Have patience. And endure."  
  
Herne lowered his arms, and vanished amid a blinding  
flash. As the mist dissipated, Robert blinked to clear his  
vision, then looked in bewilderment at Robin.  
  
"You're his _son_?"  
  
Robin quirked a smile and nodded but could bring himself  
to say no more. Robert would learn what was needed at the  
right time, but Robin hardly wanted to think of such  
things. It touched too close to his own death. Now that  
Herne had asked him to, in essence, prepare his own  
successor to take up the fight, that death felt closer than  
ever, an inky blackness hanging over his head that he could  
touch, if only he reached high enough.  
  
But that death would not come for quite some time. Robert  
possessed the courage and inner fire, but he still had much  
growing up to do before he would be ready for Sherwood. And  
Robin had no intention of leaving this life yet.  
  
Robin stood and helped Robert to his feet. "Stay here.  
I'll send your friend to you, along with a couple of the  
horses that the soldiers left behind." He pointed toward  
the road. "Follow that until you cross a bridge and reach a  
crossroads, then take the northern road. That will lead you  
back to Huntingdon."  
  
Robert nodded, resigned. "Will I ever meet you again?"  
  
"I don't know, but I think not."  
  
"Then, thank you. For everything. For opening my eyes." He  
held out his hand, which Robin took in a firm shake.  
  
He left Robert there and returned to the village. Kyle was  
sitting alone on a barrel, right where Robin had left him;  
Marion had wandered off to talk with Edward and probably  
didn't even remember whom she had left behind. Robin  
suspected that if Herne's magic had erased Robert from  
their minds, Robert's companion also would fade from memory.  
  
"Robert is waiting for you up there," Robin said. "Take  
two horses with you. If you ride hard, you can be back in  
Huntingdon by tomorrow morning."  
  
"So he's coming with me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Kyle nodded, relieved, and did as Robin bid him. Robin  
watched until they both had mounted and galloped off,  
unnoticed, down the road. Somehow he knew that they would  
make it back fine to Huntingdon, so he wouldn't worry on  
that account.  
  
Moments later, he felt two small but strong hands circle  
his waist from behind, and he turned to gaze down on his  
beautiful wife.  
  
"What were you looking at?" she asked.  
  
"Nothing," he said, smiling, and ran his hand through her  
red curls.  
  
She looked at him curiously. "You're a strange one  
sometimes."  
  
"But I still love you." He kissed her lightly, then took  
her hand and led her back toward the village center.  
  
Robin knew death would catch him someday, and then Robert  
would return to Sherwood. But not today, or tomorrow, or  
the next day. So Robin would think no more on it and simply  
enjoy the life that he had. And no longer would he worry  
about what would happen should he die, because he now knew  
that his fight would carry on without him.  
  
It gave him a sense of peace, to know that he would have a  
successor.  
  
The end. 


End file.
